Do you ever hear yourself saying, “Nobody ever listens to me” or “Nothing ever goes to plan”? At the time, it feels like a fair assessment because something has gone wrong or you’re doing yet another job you’d hoped someone else might notice needed doing.
Before long, one incident has become a summary of your entire life, and any exceptions seem considerably less relevant than the evidence currently annoying you.
I was reminded of this just the other day. “I always have to do everything!” exclaimed my 14-year-old son, somewhat dramatically, when I asked him to do the drying-up.
Before you picture him single-handedly maintaining the household, I’d like to point out that this was the one and only job I’d asked him to do all week. And it was during the half-term holiday.
I was about to challenge his use of both “always” and “everything” when I remembered how recently I’d declared that everything falls apart when I’m ill. It turns out he isn’t the only person in our house who can turn a few household jobs into a sweeping statement about the unfairness of life.
(In my case, the evidence included an overfed Labrador, unwashed sports kit and a shortage of shower supplies. Admittedly, the house was still standing, everyone had been fed – some more generously than others – and quite a lot was still getting done. But I wasn’t going to let that interfere with a perfectly good generalisation – or story.)
Whether it’s “I always have to do everything” or “Nobody ever listens”, the words are different but the habit is similar: we take an experience and turn it into a much bigger conclusion.
It turns out our ability to generalise is actually rather useful
There’s a useful reason why we generalise. By learning from one experience, we can apply what we’ve learnt to new situations, often without consciously deciding to do so.
So when you walk into a café you’ve never visited before, you don’t have to begin by establishing what a chair is, whether a cup is something you can drink from or what the person behind the counter might be there to do. Your previous experiences give you a useful starting point.
Likewise, you can recognise a door handle you’ve never seen before and have a reasonable idea of how to use it. You don’t need to attend an introductory workshop every time someone installs a slightly different model.
These mental shortcuts make our lives easier. Imagine if we had to work everything out from scratch: just getting out of the house would take all day!
Much of this process happens without us paying conscious attention to it. Our minds do an amazing job of recognising similarities and forming expectations that allow us to get on with our day. Usually, that serves us incredibly well.
The difficulty comes when we apply what we’ve learnt too broadly, turning something that happened in a particular situation into a rule about what happens everywhere, to everyone or all the time.
One difficult experience can turn into a rule
Let’s take a presentation that doesn’t go well as an example. Instead of thinking, “I struggled with that presentation,” we jump to the conclusion – and create a new personal rule – that “I’m always terrible at presenting.”
Or when a colleague lets us down, instead of thinking, “They didn’t do what we agreed on this occasion,” it becomes an absolute rule that “You can’t rely on anyone.”
Those statements do more than describe our disappointment; they can influence what we’re willing to try next.
For example, if I think, “I’m always terrible at presenting,” I’m likely to avoid volunteering to do any further presentations. My generalisation has quietly narrowed my options, and it may also help keep the problem going: if I avoid presenting, I miss opportunities to practise, receive feedback and improve. The next time I have to do it, I may still struggle, which feels like further evidence that I was right about myself all along.
The same thing can happen in relationships. “You never listen” can turn into a heated discussion about whether the other person has ever listened to anything, with both parties supplying examples from several years ago.
By this point, a calm discussion about how unheard you felt when they kept looking at their phone that morning, while you were trying to explain something important, has become considerably more difficult. Both parties may stop listening because they feel unheard and, quite frankly, offended. We can end up creating more of the very experience we were complaining about.
What are you turning into a rule at work?
So what’s the solution? The first step is to notice the words you hear yourself using:
“Everyone here resists change.”
“Nobody takes responsibility.”
“I always get overlooked.”
“Nothing I suggest ever gets agreed.”
These statements may express a genuine frustration, but words such as always, never, everyone, no one, everything and nothing can bundle different people, occasions and circumstances into one absolute verdict or rule. That rule can then influence what we notice and how we behave, helping to keep the pattern going.
Of course, I don’t want to be accused of making a sweeping generalisation about generalisations by suggesting these words are always wrong. Sometimes “every time” is an accurate description. Sometimes we’re exaggerating for effect and know perfectly well that what we’re saying isn’t true in every instance. And I must admit, I am extremely talented at doing this. Fortunately, I learnt to recognise what I was doing and how to change it. Unfortunately, when we don’t recognise what we’re doing, we’re unlikely to stop and check.
Which brings me to the second step. When you hear yourself making a sweeping statement, challenge it with a question:
- “Everyone here resists change.”
Everyone? Is there anyone who doesn’t? - “I always get overlooked.”
Always? Has there been a time when I haven’t been overlooked? - “Nothing I suggest ever gets agreed.”
Nothing? Has there ever been a time when my suggestion was agreed?
Finding an exception doesn’t mean the frustration is unfounded or that a recurring problem should be dismissed. The aim is to arrive at a more accurate description that helps you understand the problem, so you’re in a better position to decide what to do about it.
After challenging “Everyone here resists change”, we might arrive at “Johnny has raised concerns about this particular change initiative.” That gives you something specific to explore with Johnny: what concerns does he have, and what would help him move forward?
After challenging “I always get overlooked”, we might arrive at “My manager moved on without discussing my idea in yesterday’s meeting, and I felt overlooked.”
Now we have two things to explore: what happened in the meeting and what it meant to you. You could ask your manager, “We moved on quite quickly after I suggested an idea. Could we come back to it?” You could also consider what led you to conclude that your manager moving on without discussing your idea meant you’d been overlooked.
Both revised statements still acknowledge a problem, but they make it easier to identify a way forward rather than keeping us stuck.
That’s part of what I explore in my coaching and work with leaders and teams: the familiar patterns that shape how we describe a situation, respond to it and sometimes keep it going. We also go deeper to explore why particular generalisations come so readily to us, but that’s for another time. Getting more specific can reveal a practical issue that needs addressing, or an expectation we hadn’t realised we were carrying.
Recognising the language is just the starting point, because it allows us to explore what sits behind it and creates opportunities for a different response.
Try catching one generalisation this week
Listen to what you say aloud and what you tell yourself. When you hear an “always”, “never” or “everyone”, pause before accepting it as a complete account.
Ask yourself what happened, what exceptions exist and how you could describe the situation more accurately. Then consider whether that changes what you could do next.
And if you find yourself dealing with a dramatic 14-year-old who exclaims, “I always have to do everything!”, a little curiosity – “What specifically have you had to do this week?” – might get you further than triggering World War Three by announcing, “That’s simply not true!”
What sweeping statement do you hear yourself making, and would it stand up to a little questioning?